Ah, yoga.  The union of the conscious mind and the physical body, the opening of energy pathways, awakening of sensation from within in times where we expect stimulation from something other than our self.  Often we are so focused on what is happening around us we aren't sensitive to, or often just don't appreciate, what we feel.  We aren't lost in the moment, our wounds are our prized possessions, our motivations an ultimatum.

Via a series of serendipitous events I found myself at Rusty Wells' UrbanFlow studio last night - a free weeknight that felt like a holiday.  One-hundred plus souls in a room exploring variation and open to sensation.  Although I haven't been to a yoga class in years and have never been regularly, it seemed a natural extension of the functional flexibility I pursue personally and professionally.  More ready for that session than I had expected, I became one with the throng of bodies percolating and perambulating into the studio; athletic bodies used to being manipulated consciously...muscular, sinuous.  Chanting our own welcomes swept me away from quotidian thoughts, and the controlling mind withdrew.  I found myself smiling in recognition of the fact that I was lost in the moment.  This is now, and this is awesome - I feel, and I feel myself feeling.  Time and space had disappeared.

Indeed, our bodies, minds and souls are capable of tremendous feats.  Socio-cultural evolution has eliminated the necessity of exploration with this ubiquitous and powerful trifecta, but as the world turns and we pass through time and space, the conscious aspect of human thought returns us to our primal instincts:  to eat, move and be healthy.  I shed tears years ago in a yoga class only months after knee surgery - for a moment the contiguous amalgamation of what I considered myself to be watched as energy flushed me of erroneous preconceptions.  I am not what I was moments ago, and as such, importance shifts not to what I am, but just that I am.  Being.